


The Roar of a Waterfall

by ToodleOfDeeth



Series: The Water [2]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Drama & Romance, Frottage, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Porn With Plot, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Some Humor, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 03:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16673551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToodleOfDeeth/pseuds/ToodleOfDeeth
Summary: Dakin, in the typical Dakin way, took without thinking of the consequences.Now, a few weeks later, Posner is left to deal with the fallout. Even he doesn't know if he can fix what's been broken, but what he does know is that it's about damn time Dakin learnt a lesson from it.Excerpt:“Dakin… well, he isn't the type to do things for other people.”





	1. Chapter 1

Behind the club, he could still hear the roar of the music, recognising  _ The Sound of the Crowd  _ even when it was just a beat and undistinguishable lyrics. His nerves already thinned from that ‘earlier’ experience with Dakin (in truth it had been days. Maybe a week by now), were only fraying more with the irritable drone of the music. 

Posner rubbed his temples, attempting to get rid of the headache and the drunken glow. He just felt shitty - body sore, head sore, pride sore, and apparently not getting any better. He recalled what his flatmate had said earlier, filled with good intentions but no real care:

“You just need a change of scenery. A change of pace. Maybe try going out? See who’s out there, I’m sure someone will bite.”

Rubbing his hand over the bruise on his collarbone, he supposed someone did, in fact, bite. 

The music shifted, and New Order’s  _ Blue Monday  _ came on instead. There was a roar of approval from the club, and Posner decided to be wise for the first time that night and stood up. He never liked that song anyway.

Wondering home over the cobbles, in the middle of the street, he supposed his dislike for the track wasn't widely known, after all, he had always been known to be somewhat melancholic in both regards to life and music. As his mother had once said to him after a particularly, uh,  _ rough  _ day at school:

“ _ You don't ever get into trouble, do you David? It’s always trouble that finds you. _ ”

And fuck. His mother was the last thing he wanted to think about on the way home from a nightclub, in the middle of fucking October, his head throbbing and his trousers sticky. 

 

///

 

While sex wasn't something he had ever tried to avoid, it was still surprising to him when he found his sexual encounters with strangers was over double that of the amount he had with meaningful partners. His last date was over two months ago, and his last committed relationship over six. Desperate. That was the word for it. He was getting desperate. 

And like a light from above there was Scripps. 

Gorgeous, beautiful, selfless Scripps. 

Scripps who had been his friend since they were born. Scripps who had held his head above the water when he fainted from cold in the outdoor swimming pool. Scripps who, a few weeks ago, was virginal, looking to fuck, and had at least a seventy-five percent chance at being gay. He was shy, absurdly so, and with good reason. As soon as Posner had accidently (but delightfully) pulled the hinges off Scripps’ best kept secret, Scripps thought he would be damned by God, his family, and almost everyone he knew. He didn't have the benefit of everyone already assuming he was queer and moving on, he still had to go over ‘the talk’ (as it were often called) with people. 

He was nervous, spluttering, and red. And Dakin took full advantage. 

(In case you had missed it, Dakin was one to do that. Take things in full. Regardless of intention or others, Dakin took whatever wasn't bolted down metaphorically or physically. He took Posner’s heart, took Irwin’s confidence, and took Scripps’ best-protected possession.) 

Fucking. Dakin. 

That was all that needed to be said in that regard.

Now, over two weeks later from their  _ coming together _ , he hadn't heard from Scripps or Dakin. He didn't know if they had actually, well,  _ become acquainted with one another,  _ or if it had burned out like every other connection Dakin had ever tried, or not tried in Posner’s case, to make. It was a cruel anticipation, like waiting to see if a loved one had come out of an accident dead or injured, and Posner so desperately wanted the wait to be over. No use peeling the plaster off slowly when you can do it in half the time with half the pain. 

He just wanted to know if Scripps was happy.

“You're real dark today, Pos. Something up?” Akthar asked then, looking up from his copy of  _ Jane Eyre _ .

The living room of Akthar’s flat was far too bright in his opinion, the curtains being pulled to show both the street below and the apartments opposite. While the view wasn't heartachingly beautiful, Akthar still claimed he liked it, calling it ‘architecture done well’. Posner wasn't so much a fan of the Victorian style terraced houses, and while they did look good now, with the sunlight picking out the details in their plaster, the sun had the uncanny ability to make anything look good. He turned to Akthar then, laying aloof the other sofa, and blinked at him owlishly. 

“Just thinking.” He replied, half-heartedly. 

Akthar hummed, “About what? If you don't mind me asking.”

He sighed. Of course Akthar would pry. He dog-eared the page of his book, because obviously he wasn't going to get back to it unless Akthar’s unquenchable curiosity was satisfied. 

“You know Scripps?” Posner began, not currently willing to dive headfirst into it.

“Our mate?”

“Yes.” 

“Of course. What about him?” Akthar paused, and then hurriedly began again, “You two haven't fought have you?” 

“No. No fighting between him and I. But did you hear about his… enlightenment?” 

“You mean Dakin.” It wasn't a question. 

“Yes.”

“I heard about Dakin being interested, but not much after that point. Did he follow through?”

“Yes, unfortunately, and I haven’t heard a peep from either of them since. I might be motherly assuming this, but given Dakin’s track record, I can't say I’m unjustified - I fear that Dakin has taken more than what was asked.”

Akthar leaned back, and said quietly, “Took advantage, you mean?”

He nodded. 

Whistling, Akthar rested his head on the back of the sofa and looked up to the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. Posner waited. “You know,” He finally began, “If I didn't know any better I might assume you were jealous.” 

“Jealous!”

“Although I’m not sure you were jealous of Scripps being fucked by Dakin, or of Dakin getting to fuck Scripps. A younger you would have definitely been envious of Scripps, but you're not your younger self, you're your current self, and although I know you're in your right enough mind to deny it, I also know that through denying it you're also admitting to it.”

“You're going to assume I’m jealous regardless.”

“To be fair, you are easy to read.”

Akthar put his book down and swung his legs so that he was sitting on the couch like an actual normal person, and so that he was actually looking back at Posner. He clasped his hands together and rested them under his chin, holding eye contact. Posner had the distinct feeling that he was being read like a newspaper, being peered at with some interest but not enough to actually be considered. But just as soon as Posner felt comfortable meeting his eye, Akthar turned to look out the window instead. 

“Maybe you should go talk to Scripps.”

“Oh and say what? ‘I’m upset you're getting some because I want some too?’”

“To comfort him, you dick. You said Dakin might have been taking advantage, and that’s pretty worrying. Just check up on him, maybe go and get tea together. There’s this great little coffee shop down the road called-”

There was a knock at the door. Both of them turned to look, then looked at one another, and then back at the door. It knocked again, slightly louder. 

“Well? Go get it.”

“You do it.”

“Akthar, it’s  _ your flat. _ ”

The door knocked again, and this time Akthar scrambled to answer it. He rattled the door handle, discovering it was locked, and then fiddled with the key. It swung open.

“Dakin.” Akthar said, as a way of greeting, before stepping to the side to let him in. Dakin wore the smile that he always carried around with him, like it was a possession more than an active feature of his face. He nodded to Akthar as he passed, his features never wavering, and he continued to strive forward into the living room as Akthar closed and locked them in the room with Dakin. 

“Gentlemen,” Dakin said, uncharacteristically proud of the fact that he was coming to visit. Posner thought about how Dakin usually acted when he came to see them both, typically after fucking something up royally and seeking out a way of fixing it in a way that conveniences him and not the other person in the situation. Dakin, ever the warmongering arsehole that he was, sometimes refused to so much as speak to the person who was wronged by him if they refused to see eye to eye (and of course, eye to eye in this case was admiring that they were wrong and that he was right). 

Akthar returned to his seat, but Dakin remained standing, his gaze bored as he looked out the window at the Oxford rooftops. Akthar decided he had experienced quite enough of this and broke the quiet spell. “Did you come here to admire the view? Or perhaps your own reflection.”

“They’re both admirable,” Dakin said, somewhat bemused by Akthar’s immediate attack, “But no. I’ve come for advice. Advice that I feel like I can only get from you both.” 

“How did you know that we would both be here?” Posner asked, his eyebrows rising.

“I tried calling you.” 

“Ah.”

Dakin moved toward the armchair and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other, ankle to knee, and then looked at them both one at a time. “You may or may not be aware,” He began slowly, chewing through his words carefully before spitting them out, “Of my current situation. With Scripps.” He added, and then paused for dramatic effect. Akthar leaned back in his seat. Posner refused to show a reaction at all but his eye still twitched. “Scripps hasn’t spoken to me since I, excuse my metaphor, ‘plucked from his garden’, and I’m not entirely sure how to reunite us.”

“And you came to us because…?”

“You, Posner, already know of my situation with Scripps, since you already tried to dissuade us. And you, Akthar, are good with this kind of thing. I know that both from experience and from recommendations.”

“Cheers.” 

“What do you want then?” Posner asked.

Dakin took a breath before he began his tale. “I fucked Scripps, as you’re aware, as I’ve already explained this to you both. But now I’m not sure how to reinitiate my friendship with him. It’s been six years since we had a fight, and then the silence only lasted about two weeks. This one has lasted three, and not a single word has been exchanged between us since. I don’t know how to get him talking to me again. It’s frustrating.”

Akthar glanced at Posner out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to Dakin. “Have you considered that you’re the one in the wrong here, Dakin?” 

He started back a little, straightening up and scowling. Offended, he said, “I had at first, but then thought that idea was complete rubbish. How could I be in the wrong? I was helping him out of a situation he’d boxed himself into.” 

Posner pressed his lips together, but then forced his emotions down, returning his face to neutral. “I haven’t heard from him either,” He admitted, more to Dakin than Akthar. 

There was a brief moment where Posner thought that some mercy might have actually blessed him, because initially the expression on Akthar’s face was nothing but the purest accusation towards Dakin, for he looked at him as sharply as Mrs. Lintott ever could. Dakin didn’t react, because apparently something interesting was occurring again outside the window. Akthar then looked at Posner, and it was then that he realised that God, Hector, or whoever else could have possibly been listening to his prayers decided to ignore them. “You know Scripps better than I do, Posner. Why don’t you pop ‘round and see what he’s up to?” 

“Yes, actually,” Dakin interjected, “I was going to say; if you and Scripps are so close, why haven’t you gone to see him? Since you were so keen on acting as a gatekeeper for him.” 

Posner flushed and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m not his mother. Besides, when I lost mine I was in a similar boat and I wanted to be left alone. The only reason why you don’t know this is because it was the summer holidays. And you don’t talk to me unless you have to. ” 

“That’s harsh, David. I’m hurt.”

“Good.”

“Will you go to him though? Just to see? Even if he shuts the door on you it might still be worth it.” Akthar, in a move that was only slightly below his level, then gave Posner the look of what could only be described as a kicked puppy. And Posner, ever one for both sympathy and empathy (unlike some in the room), couldn’t help but sigh and nod his head.

Dakin was pleased, or smug, it was rather hard to tell sometimes. “I’m glad that’s settled then,” He said, “When do you plan on going?” 

“He has lectures over Lunchtimes on Fridays so not until this afternoon. Maybe three-ish would be best.”

“You could go now?” Akthar suggested. “He used to process things better before a lesson back at school. Gave him time to think about it and then he’d come back with an answer. If you think later would be better though then go for that instead.”

“You think I should go now?” Posner asked Akthar directly.

“Yeah,” Dakin replied, “Go now.”

Posner looked at Akthar, saw that he just shrugged in regards to Posner’s question, and took a deep breath in as an attempt to calm himself. It didn’t really work, however, as he still managed to look aggressive as he slammed the door to the flat on the way out. It wasn’t his fault that the door was heavy, or that it was on a slight slope. It also wasn’t his fault that Dakin was a coward, or that Scripps was too sensible in some situations and so irresponsible in others. He took the flight of stairs down two at a time, and then twisted around the corner with all the grace of a cat. He didn’t pause on his brief walk to Scripps’ flat, aside from the one set of lights over the road. Though Oxford was as twisty as the roots of a tree, much of it was inaccessible to cars, so he didn’t bother to look as he crossed the street. What would hit him at this time of the morning, anyway? The streets were completely dead, the pavements empty-

_ Wham!  _

Posner fell to the ground, his bag cushioning his hip as he fell. “What the fuck?” He said, delirious. For a moment he didn’t know anything, not where he was or why he was in pain, but like the snapping of his fingers it all came back. 

“Oh shit,” A familiar voice said, “Are you alright, Pos?” 

Posner lay back down on the ground, clutching at his chest as he attempted to calm down. “I’m injury free, but for God’s sake, I’ve been hit by a bike. I’m going to need a moment to calm down.” 

Scripps, contrasting Posner’s tone, laughed. “Who walks out into the middle of the road without looking? This is a city, you know.” 

“Perhaps somebody walking on a street without cars on. Until you came along this street was deserted.”

“If you're the only person in the street, but no one else is, is the street really empty?” Scripps teased, his face drawn back into one of those dorky smiles. He pulled the bike off Posner, and then pulled his friend up too, standing back a little as he brushed himself off. “I am sorry about that though. Wasn't expecting it, but still should’ve slowed down.”

“It’s fine,” Posner replied instantly, “It’ll only be a few bruises, if even that. I get those all the time. Oh! Speaking of, uh. I've been sent to (how do I phrase this?) talk to you, I suppose.” 

“Talk to me? Were you just heading over to my place?”

“Yes. I wanted to chat.”

“Well my lecture is in an hour so it’ll have to be quick.”

Together, making idle conversation about the weather of all things, they climbed the stairs to Scripps’ flat. Posner rocked back on his heels as he waited for Scripps to unlock the door, and used one hand to keep the bike steady. While his expression was as clear as the autumn day outside, his mind was foggy and drab, clogged up with moisture and slower at finding a way to bring up the delicate conversation that he needed to. 

Scripps pushed the door open and gestured for Posner to go inside, before dragging the bike in behind them. “It’s a bit of a mess at the minute, I hope you’ll excuse that. Been a bit busy as of late with all the essays and extra reading being assigned-“

“No, no. It’s totally fine. Honestly you should see my ‘rats den’ called a bedroom. Puts this place to shame.”

Laughing, Scripps moved the papers and the copy of  _ Starlog  _ off the chairs and onto the coffee table, and Posner acquainted himself with the worn blue and white striped armchair near the window. He recalled the last time he sat in this chair and all of a sudden, the fog in his mind lifted. “I remember the last time I was in this chair… it feels like ever such a long time ago.” He said, attempting to hide the smugness in his voice. From the looks of things he had succeeded in that regard, but failed to keep the ever-underlying motherly tone from creeping in.

“Ah.” Scripps said. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but did take a seat opposite Posner, as he had done before. He placed his hands in his lap and said, “So that’s what this is about.”

He knew, deep down, that Scripps would act like this. For all his wisdom and intellect, Scripps could sure as hell ignore all of it and become the shrunken violet he always had been. While usually Scripps was the centred one in the group, his thoughts thought out, his opinions opinionated, now he was nothing like that; he was scatterbrained, uneven, and anxious.

“Yes, Scripps. I want to talk about that. I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“About  _ you,  _ dumbass, now explain yourself to me, please. Are you upset with Dakin?”

Scripps pulled a face. “You know I just can’t-“

“Scripps, I’m worried about you. All of us are. Even fucking Dakin is. Look, okay? I know that given time you’d come forward on your own, but mate, it’s been two weeks and Dakin is pestering me about you. I’m worried.” 

Letting out a long breath, Scripps eyed the clock wearily, bidding it to tick faster so that he could disappear off to his class and avoid all this. “I-“ he began, but chewed over his words further. “I… don’t regret it?”

Posner considered this, but still had to ask about the obvious. “Then why the two weeks of you being MIA?”

“You wouldn't understand, Pos. Leave it be.”

“Scripps. Do you regret Dakin? The fact that you’ve had sex?”

The reply was immediate. “No.”

“Do you wish you had your virginity back?”

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to maintain faith.” 

“Dakin, as you are probably aware, thinks that you’re mad at him.”

Scripps leant back in his chair and stared into the corner of the room, his face stuck in a kind of forced indifference, almost like he didn’t actually care for Posner, the world, or God. There was, of course, a flaw in this plan of his as Posner knew that his apparent lack of caring wasn’t totally true. 

“Have you prayed?”

“Does it matter?” 

Posner startled back, mouth agape, “ _ That  _ is something I never thought I’d hear.”

“What about it?”

“Scripps, you have been of faith for over ten years now. If you’d expected me to believe you were faking it this whole time then you need to reassess how good your acting skills are. I’m surprised you didn’t become an actor, or at least study media.”

“Stop being so bloody sarcastic!” 

There was a silence. It hung heavy in the air like smoke. They both actually looked at one another now, their eyes meeting across the coffee table, unwavering. “Scripps.” Posner said, voice low, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” he replied, short. 

“Scripps.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

Scripps’ face reddened, and he pulled himself up like he had only just woken after falling asleep in a lecture. It was difficult to fully describe how he then looked at Posner, but the closest definition he could find would be a strange mixture of him feeling both undignified and angry. “There is nothing wrong.” He spat.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the last person in the world that you’d ever want to see right now.”

“Posner, this isn’t something you can fix. It’s something I need to work through on my own. Leave me be.” 

Although Scripps’ words were strong, a subtle warble leaked into his tone, and Posner’s eyes widened. He stood immediately, and Scripps flinched back, but he ignored this in favour of crossing the space between them to sit next to him on the sofa. “Donald, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice high and pleading. He grasped Scripps’ hand in his own, looking to his face like it would give him the answers that Scripps couldn't verbally say. Scripps only let himself be manhandled into Posner’s wished for position, but didn't actually give him the wished for answer straight away. 

Somehow, this reminded him of his youth. It always seemed like he was reminded of it, almost every day. Posner acting like this was the same way he had expected his mother or his aunt to act. Although not necessarily unwelcome, Scripps couldn't help but feel like he was being coddled. He couldn't bring himself to mention it. He also couldn't bring himself to talk to Posner about what he wanted- no, needed to say. While keeping his journal helped, it could only help so much. Would taking refuge in someone else, even if it was just this once, truly help?

He took a breath. 

“It’s… hard to describe,” He finally mumbled, not yet daring to look up, but nevertheless the dam was broken, and Scripps could no longer hold back the tide. He took a deep breath in an attempt to settle himself, but it hitched, and all of a sudden he was no longer the Scripps that Posner had knows his whole life - this was a different person entirely. “I just can’t stop thinking about how this… thing might have been a mistake. That I was wrong and I maybe should have actually kept it.”

Posner was still for a moment, making sure that he wasn’t going to interrupt Scripps in this delicate moment. But then, after the brief pause, he took it upon himself to add some reason to Scripps’ rhyme. “When I made it my personal mission to get rid of my virginity, I saw it as a sort of weakness - as something that deemed me less than I was. It felt like, to me at least,  that it was holding me back. 

“I wanted it out, and I took a very regrettable way to do exactly that. Someone, I shan’t mention who for we both know them-”

“Lockwood.” 

Posner huffed, “Yes, okay, it was Lockwood. Lockwood helped me out with it, but before hand I told him explicitly that it was to be strictly about me getting experience and losing my virginity. Nothing else. You know why?”

“Why?”

“This sounds fucked up in retrospect, but I thought of it as making myself better for Dakin.”

Scripps took in a sudden breath, through his teeth like he couldn't quite believe what he heard, or at least didn't want to believe it. “Oh Pos…” He said instead, trying not to sound too disappointed in him, but the tone came across all wrong. Cringing inwardly, Scripps leaned back a little, staring at where their hands were still intertwined. 

“What I didn't realise at the time was that the me after I’d had sex for the first time was exactly the same as the me before, bar one experience. I’d had sex, yes, but I hadn't actually changed. It was terribly disappointing, and only sent me further into that whole spiral I had going on then. Only thing is though is that I was with Lockwood, and you were with Dakin. Neither of who were necessarily mistakes. 

“What I’m trying to say here Scripps is the key difference between  _ your  _ experience and  _ my  _ experience was the partner. We both had somewhat similar mindsets, albeit with different reasons, but Lockwood understood what I wanted. He knew it wasn't for him. ”

And now that made Scripps pause. 

“What do you mean it wasn't for him?” The only way to describe his tone was dangerous. He didn't look particularly angry, or expressed any emotion strongly, but that unstable look was still there. Posner put his hand on Scripps’ shoulder, swallowed, and explained. 

“Dakin… well, he isn't the type to do things for other people.”

Like that, like a light switch clicking into place, Scripps realised why it all seemed so wrong. 

The result was instant - Scripps snivelled, still not letting tears fall, but his eyes were still welling. He shied away from Posner’s attempt to comfort him, and Posner removed his hand from his shoulder like he had been burned. His eyes, glassy and wet, slid across the room - seeing without seeing, feeling without feeling, and his heart beating without doing anything at all. Scripps was completely still, but inside his whole body raced on a track, going around in circles again and again and again. And although Scripps knew that Dakin was his friend, and that Dakin usually meant the best in his actions, he also meant the best for himself in either equal or greater measure. 

_ He isn't the type to do things for other people. _

And he had a lecture in ten minutes.

Posner saw him looking at the clock. “Don't-no, don't go to your lecture. Your hundred percent reputation can take a hike. You're more important than your lecture. Seriously.” 

Scripps took a deep breath.

“Okay.” he said, voice still a little shaky. 

“Also, I just had a stroke of genius. I’m sure you’re aware of God creating everything for a reason, correct?” 

“Yes?” 

“Bazaar as this may sound, but what if God didn't want you to keep it? What if Dakin was created specifically to take it from you?”

Scripps snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

Posner, for the first time in weeks, laughed. “Well,” He said, “If you're feeling better I best go tell Dakin that he’s a twat.”

“Just a regular Friday then, huh?”

“Exactly. Just a regular Friday.”

 

/////

 

“Is Dakin still here?” Posner immediately asked as he came through the door, but Akthar shook his head.

“He left about ten minutes after you did. I think me sitting still was boring him. What was up with Scripps then?”

Posner shook his head. “He was just trying to get over it, you know?”

“Ah.” 

Akthar sat down again, as he was before, leaving Posner to undo his shoes and take off his coat, but he didn’t. Even though it was a regular enough circumstance for Posner to make himself at home, he didn't see himself staying now that Dakin had stirred the water again. “You know,” He said, sparking the conversation, “I almost expected him to stay. Dakin, I mean. He seemed at least a little concerned.”

“Yeah, but ‘seemed’.”

He huffed out a laugh, “Yes, well, I always did question if he cared about any of us in the first place.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Now  _ that  _ was something to be debated. 

Dakin, although Posner had to admit that he had charms, wasn't very good at the whole ‘being a friend’ thing. Posner himself never went far enough to refer to him and Dakin as such, but nevertheless, he could vouch for their mutual friends on the matter. At one point, although a while ago now, Crowther had stated it best:

_ ‘That Dakin is one of the worst friends I’ve ever had. The man doesn't even turn up to anyone’s birthday party unless they announce that there’s going to be booze. But I’ll give him one thing; he does know how to tie people together, metaphorically, of course. And although he’s so bad at being our friend, we still refer to him as such. It’s peculiar.’ _

And yes, at least that was true. Dakin  _ was  _ one to bring people together.

It’s a shame it was sometimes in completely the wrong ways. 

For example, Dakin had a knack of bringing himself closer to girls, but said girls usually ended up heartbroken for what they gave Dakin didn't, or perhaps couldn't, give back. Another example was with Scripps. Scripps gave himself over, and Dakin did too. Scripps gave his vulnerability, and Dakin didn't. Scripps gave his chastity, and Dakin took it and ran. 

You get the picture.

The only thing was, Posner didn’t know why Dakin could do it so often and get away with it. It was a well-known fact among them that Dakin took, yet Posner had wanted him in the past, and Scripps had wanted him too, and now, after the fact, they both felt ashamed at recognising it and yet still acting on it. 

Dakin was in all sense of the words, a terrible decision. And yet despite this, he repeatedly managed to convince people otherwise.

///

“What’s the plan now?” Akthar asked, sensible as always. “Dakin’s gone, Scripps has gone quiet, and You're here. Do you want to keep reading?”

“No.” Posner replied immediately, “I don't think I can. Too much on my mind. Do you think Dakin would mind if I visited? He did ask me to report back to him, after all.” 

Akthar shrugged, uninterested. “I think I've had enough of him for now. He’s exhausting.” 

Humming, Posner went back to the door. 

“You're not staying?”

“No, thank you Akthar. I need to go clear something up first. I didn't realise quite how much I had to sort out until Dakin came along and messed it all up again.”

“Well good luck with it.”

“Since it involves Stuart, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Posner left Akthar’s flat with ease, his head totally empty of thought and his actions swift and smooth. He was careful this time to mind the door, as it had a habit of slamming behind him and scaring the living daylights out of him. As he did before, he took the flight of stairs down two at a time, and then twisted around the corner with all the grace of a cat. He didn’t pause on his brief walk to Dakin’s flat, aside from the one set of lights over the road. This route wasn't as familiar as the one to Scripps’ flat, full of twists and turns and roads that looked like dead ends until you actually got to the end, where it was then revealed that there was actually a way through, but it was just disguised by a high wall or a patch of ivy. 

In some ways Oxford reminded Posner of Sheffield; all concrete and brick and glass and stone, but the thought passed through his head in the same way a mist rolled over the ocean, temporarily, thick, and deceiving. This wasn't Sheffield, he wasn't the same person he was before, and both he and Oxford were different. 

In a lot of ways, everything was different.

Finally, after a good ten minutes, Posner reached a thin building across the other side of town, made of smart red brick and even smarter white window frames. He knocked.

Inside there was a shuffling, and he heard someone come barrelling down the stairs, like the ‘someone’ behind the door was expecting him. It swung open, and there, dishevelled and annoyed, was Dakin.

“What do you want, Pos?”

Posner bristled, “I thought you’d want to know about how Scripps is, seeing as you came and asked about him not an hour ago. Or were you more interested in seeing how Akthar and I spend our Fridays?”

Dakin opened the door slightly wider, cocking his hip, “No, I am interested. What’s with him?”

“He’s panicking.”

“About the gay thing?”

Posner paused; he hadn’t even thought about that.

“Not that I could tell. It was more the virginity thing.”

“Right. So he’s not upset?”

“With the gayness, no. He’s just worried he’s fucked up his relationship with god, is all.”

“And how did you make him realise it was alright?”

He sighed, rubbing his face, and debated with himself for a moment on how to proceed. “I don’t know if I really did. It’s hard to describe.”

Dakin rolled his eyes and in a totally unexpected move he stepped aside, leaving room in the doorway. “Right. I suppose it’s best to invite you inside then. It is, after all, November. I swear it gets chillier every year.” 

Startled, Posner took a half step backwards. “You want me to come in?”

“No, I want you to suffer out here in the cold. Yes, you moron, I want you to come in. Like I said, it’s cold out here.” He then disappeared into the house, leaving Posner to shut the door behind them.

Although Posner couldn't say he had much experience in being trapped, he could confidently say that Dakin’s house was the closest he’d ever felt to being so. The hallway light was off, and so the only light that he could see came through the living room (or possibly kitchen) door, and even then it was obvious that the window was partially obscured. At a loss of what to do, he went further into the house, following where he assumed Dakin had lead. 

Sure enough, when he came around the corner at the end of the hallway he saw Dakin standing in front of the kitchen window, hands in his front pockets and his back to Posner. Taking initiative, he sat down at the table and looked around for a moment, examining the surprisingly clean floors and countertops. That being said, there was for some reason a pornographic image of a half-dressed woman stuck on the fridge with a magnet. 

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, curious. 

“No, there’s two others but they're out. Why?”

“It just seemed too big for one. Anyway, you're being very dramatic. Did you want me to elaborate on Scripps’ predicament or not?” 

“It was weird that Scripps didn't mention the gay thing. Do you think it’s because he didn't take it?”

“Take what?”

Dakin’s head shifted in his direction slightly, but they still weren’t quite meeting eye to eye. “Took it. You should know.”

“Oh!”

Dakin laughed, and now he did actually turn around, his humour genuine. “I can't believe I had to explain that to  _ you,  _ of all people. I thought you were up to date with these sorts of terms.”

“I am. I just didn't realise you had enough space up there for Scripps along side your massive ego.”

“Oh, boo. That was low.”

“Why are you booing me? I’m right.”

Dakin chuckled and moved towards him. All of a sudden the kitchen felt much smaller, like in the span of seconds the walls had closed in around them, but predictably Dakin didn't seem to notice or care. “Let’s not forget why you’re here,” Dakin began, almost threateningly. “What was up with Scripps?”

And now, in this very moment, Posner’s choices branched. On the one hand he could tell Dakin a lie - say it was just Scripps being busier than usual, perhaps he had a few essays due, a few more errands to run; maybe he wasn't even in Oxford, maybe he had to go back home for a little while - family emergency. On the other hand, Posner could tell the truth - tell Dakin that he was a terrible lay, a terrible person, and also awful at comfort in one fell swoop. That wasn't necessarily the whole story.

“Scripps was confused at first as to why exactly he was upset, so I’m not sure I can do exactly what you want and give you a short answer. What I can give you is a summary of what we discussed, if you’re up for waiting, that is.” 

There was a moment where Dakin said nothing, seemingly considering what Posner had said, but then with a flourish of his hands that he had without a doubt practiced in the mirror, Dakin gestured for him to continue. 

“Scripps was at a bit of a loss, after you left, because on the one hand he had wanted to get rid of it for the sake of making him more available to partners romantically, but following through with it also made him believe that he had gone against God. He thought that the self he was before he had sex would be gone, and he would be a different person entirely after, which obviously wasn't the case. And because of this he felt like he had done something wrong.

“You see, Dakin, if Scripps were to have done this with a normal partner - one that was willing to talk the process out  _ before  _ jumping into the action, he would have realised that he wouldn’t change at all, bar for the fact that he had now had sex. And if he had realised this  _ before  _ he had sex, he probably wouldn't have gone through with it. So now he thinks the only thing he achieved was in pissing God off. And he feels guilty.” 

Dakin considered this, looking to the dim ceiling light like it was going to tell him what he should say in response to Posner’s masked insults towards him. After a moment, he found the words. “Ignoring those digs at me for the time being, what did you actually do to make him feel better, if anything? Any wise words shared?” 

“I told him that if God had wanted him to remain a virgin then God wouldn't have made you.”

Dakin burst out laughing, and Posner smiled along with him, glad to lighten the mood a little. “I mean, yeah. That’s not what I would have said, but if it works, it works.”

“What  _ would  _ you have said?” 

“I probably would have told him that you can't think about God when you're fucking, and then maybe tried to convince him to give it another go.”

“Of course you’d think the only method of healing is having sex. I don't know why I bothered hoping for something else.”

Scowling at him, Dakin announced, “Sex isn't healing. It’s just a good way to stop thinking about things. A stress relief, that’s me.”

“You're nowhere near stress relief. You're a stress causer; the embodiment of stressful.” Posner said this in a way that almost evoked a challenge, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, obviously pleased with himself. 

“Calm down Mr. Analytical. You might actually say something worth listening to if you begin to pluck apart my troubled history, as you’re implying. However, I am one hundred percent certain in saying that sex is a stress relief, regardless of whom it’s with. So long as you both want it, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Right, so what I’m also suggesting is that I’m not totally wrong assuming that Scripps at this point in time would be more willing to be shagged if he wanted to give it another go.” 

“The fact that you can casually talk about one of our mutual friends being fucked without considering what you’re saying astounds me. It’s like a skill you have where you're able to dislocate yourself from any given situation.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Absolutely. It would be marvellous to be present in a conversation without actually being there. Would make it easier talking to you.” 

Dakin looked alarmed, and Posner all of a sudden wished that he hadn’t said what he had.  _ Fuck , _ he thought,  _ just when it was getting good. _

“So you  _ are.”  _ Dakin said, astounded, but then he grinned dangerously. 

“What?” He sounded worried, “What, what?” 

“You’re still interested in me!” That Grin turned devilish. 

“No!”

“You  _ are,  _ you so  _ are.”  _ Dakin ignored the table between them and stood, leaning over it to crowd more into Posner’s space. “I thought you had changed your mind about me completely, but you’re just better at hiding it.” 

Posner looked offended, but his cheeks flushed as Dakin crept ever closer. “I’m not,” he said, offended, “You’re not my type. You’re just willing, is all.” 

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Willing?”

He paused, and then sputtered out, “I guess.”

“So yes?”

“Yes. Now come here, you fucking weirdo.” 

And like a click of one’s fingers, Dakin launched himself around the table and grabbed Posner, slipping their lips together instantly and pulling them flush against one another. Groaning awkwardly, Posner leaned forward, deepening the kiss with his tongue.  _ Yes,  _ his mind supplied, delirious,  _ hell yes.  _ Dakin awkwardly got to his knees in front of him, easing Posner forward to do the same. The chair squeaked behind him but they both ignored it. Dakin let out what could only be described as a moan when Posner bit his lip, only slightly but still very noticeable. 

“Damn,” Dakin said, pulling away, but then he dived back in, fumbling backwards on the floor to get Posner leaning over him. He moved his knees awkwardly so that Posner was leant between them, their chests almost touching. 

Hand slipping from Dakin’s waist, Posner held himself upright with only one arm, the other pressed to Dakin’s ribs, as if he was the only thing keeping them together. Dakin didn't seem to mind, however, as he just used his newly freed hands to his own advantage, burying one in Ponser’s hair and slipping the other in between them to try and pull his shirt out of his jeans. 

Then, in an unforeseeable move, Posner’s hand slipped to Dakin’s front and pulled at his nipple through his shirt, and Dakin arched like he had been struck, rubbing their hips together. 

“ _ Ah!” _

Posner pulled away for a moment, catching his breath before beginning, “What-”

“Don't start. Just fucking keep going you pillock.”

“Sensitive?” 

“Very. We’ve had three years of foreplay.” 

Posner chuckled but leaned in again, this time ghosting his breath over Dakin’s neck before pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Wouldn't call it that. More like ‘you ignoring me’.”

“Stop ignoring me then.” Dakin pressed himself up again as best he could, pulling Posner down by his belt loops. Finally, his shirt slipped free and rode upwards, caught by Dakin’s greedy hands. “And get this off.” 

Posner bit back in retaliation, and soaked up the noise Dakin made like a sponge with water. It was like drinking  after being parched for days; it was like swimming after years of being on land; it was like running in a summer rainstorm. Like the roar of a waterfall, Dakin was all Posner could see, hear or think about, but at this point he was too deep to pull himself back out. Not that he wanted to.

Dakin’s hand on his waist was like a burning brand, the other grabbed at his arse and tugged him closer, closer, despite the fact there was no space between them. Posner’s skin was on fire, burning, crawling with prickling arousal that stripped away any restraint he might have had.

“That’s it,” breathed Posner, latching onto the side of Dakin’s neck and sucking a livid bruise into the skin there even as he cried out, hips stuttering and fingers digging painfully into Pos’ flesh. He then licked over the bruise, pressing the flat of his tongue against the already darkening mark and biting back a laugh at the way Dakin squirmed.  Stuart moved his legs, outwards and around them both before dragging Posner down like a fish with a hook, locking them together in motion. Posner pulled at his chest again and this time instead of gasping, Dakin bit down at the space near the neck of Pos’ t-shirt, kissing the mark he left when he eventually pulled back. 

“Lost for words?” Posner asked, cocky.

“Fuck.”

“So yes?” He panted. 

“Get on with it, you dick.” And with that Dakin grabbed a handful of Posner’s hair and pulled his head back, further exposing his throat, which he then leaned in to lick at. Pos groaned, bringing his hips down harder against him -  denim and his own boxers slid up his dick - half painful half amazing.

Gasping for breath as the fire ran through him, Dakin felt like he was on his last legs -  his head hit the floor when he jerked back instinctively, and for a moment half of Posner’s mind felt guilty but the more powerful half told him to just lean in further and keep kissing. He reached up to hold Dakin’s shoulder down, but then he just buried his hand in that black hair and pulled.

And like that the rubber band snapped - Posner, with what little he had left in him brought his hips down hard, ruthlessly grinding himself onto Dakin, and thus Dakin into the floor. One last movement, one last groan, and one last gasp, and Posner is leaning over him, shaking like a leaf. Dakin wasn't too far behind, his eyes watery and mouth open like he’s saying a prayer, one of his hands gripped in Posner’s shirt and the other covered the one in his own hair, and he moaned high and loud as his back finally loosened it’s arch. 

Exhausted, worn out, shaking, he fell to the side, body suddenly heavy and head suddenly empty. Electrified would be a good way to describe it, he thought distantly, numb and feeling, too much and so little. 

For a moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing in the dimly lit kitchen, and Posner watched the rise and fall of Dakin’s chest - now bare, but with the fabric still trucked up under his armpits. Dakin didn't even have time to take off his jacket, and Posner now realised why his feet felt so heavy.

He hadn't taken his shoes off. 

“Fuck,” Dakin finally sighed, turning his head slightly to look at the wall. Pos could see the little trails of sweat that still sat on his neck, and he looked away, all of a sudden feeling embarrassed. Dakin didn’t give him any time to act on this though, as he turned back around and trapped him in his gaze. “You all right?” he asked, voice a little sore. Neither of them remembered it, the noise. In the heat of the moment it felt a hell of a lot less out of place, but looking back Posner couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed, even if he wasn't the one being loud. 

He swallowed, “I’m good.” 

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

Dakin considered this, looking away without moving his head, before his attention snapped back and he smiled. 

That smile, a strange cocktail of the man Dakin was and the boy he had been, snapped Posner back into the moment, remembering all of the highs and lows associated with him: Fiona, Irwin, countless and faceless and nameless others.

Scripps, and now him. 

Posner’s face didn't change, but his stomach rolled, upset and excited all at once. What was this? Some kind of joke? He wasn't attracted to Dakin, but sure he had some attractive features. It was just a shame those features were attached to someone so… well, the only real way he could describe Dakin was that he was Dakin. Unstoppable, unpredictable, and in his current state, unlovable.

In that moment, half-asleep on the kitchen floor of a house that was not his own, looking half-awake into that face, he realised that no, he didn't love Dakin anymore. 

Even Posner (even Scripps) had do admit that Dakin was gorgeous, but in the context that was himself he was the most unlovable person out there. He could be loved, given time and room to grow, but unless Dakin sought love, he wouldn't find it, wouldn't keep it, and wouldn't cherish it. Dakin always had a way of getting what he wanted, and right now he didn't want love. 

He wanted Scripps for bragging rights. He wanted Irwin for bragging rights. He wanted Fiona for bragging rights. And now Dakin would probably take this experience and use it to show off how good he was, how  _ nice  _ he was for giving Posner a chance. 

Dakin would find it inconvenient then when Posner wouldn't give him that chance. 

“What now?” Dakin asked, leaning up and pulling his shirt back down. He went to remove his coat, but paused when Pos voiced his reply. 

“I’m going to go home.”

Dakin was struck, and turned to him wide-eyed and questioning. “What?” 

“I’m going to go home. It’s getting late.”

Dakin’s face turned sour, “What do you mean? Is that really it? Over five years of you pawing at me, and now you're not even going to stay? Not even going to thank me?” 

He remained passive, his voice completely flat, “I’ve moved on, Dakin. I don't love you. I look back on that person that was in love with you and feel nothing but pity. You're not worth my love, my attention, and my time. If I gave that to you now you’d just take it all and run.”

Face turning red, Dakin got up, looking impatiently down at him as he did the same. “So that’s it then. It’s all over, just like that? Way to be anticlimactic.”

“This isn't a fucking story, we don't need a climax. Not another one, at least.”

He suddenly seemed crestfallen, “Do you see nothing else in me then?”

“I see someone that wasn't ready to be told he’s not good enough.”

“Stop with the smart shit; it’s my day off, I don't need to learn today.” 

Dakin led him towards the door, “Besides. What do you mean by not good enough? I’m smart, attractive, what else?”

_ “It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.” _

“Shut up and get the hell out of my house.”

///

 

He recalled what his flatmate had said earlier, filled with good intentions but no real care:

“You just need a change of scenery. A change of pace. Maybe try going out? See who’’s out there, I’m sure someone will bite.”

Rubbing his hand over the bruise on his collarbone, he supposed someone did, in fact, bite. 

Now, walking home alone in the chill late-November air, Posner didn't consider himself unlucky to have finally clashed with Dakin. His younger self might have seen it as a victory, his older self as a lesson, but at this current point he could only think of it as a damn good time. A (almost) fuck, a good chance to insult Dakin, and a night time walk to think about life and the universe? It felt like his birthday. 

He had been confident, gagging for it, and ready. And Dakin took full advantage. 

But there was still the issue of Scripps.

Gorgeous, beautiful, selfless Scripps.

Scripps was still on the radar, and his little tussle with Dakin might keep them from having sex again, which could aid Scripps in coming out of his shell a little more, and aid Posner in growing closer. It was weird thinking about it like that, mostly because it was something Dakin would do and Posner didn't really want to stoop so low. But sometimes, he supposed, you had to go low to get high again. 

In the end, approaching his own street, he came up with a very simple plan. Get Dakin to realise his errors, get Scripps to forgive himself, and get himself a boyfriend that wasn't necessarily Scripps.

Scripps would be ideal, but if he were going to panic every time Posner made a move they wouldn't have a great time. That being said, seeing Scripps’ gay induced panic  _ could  _ be pretty entertaining, and possibly even a turn on in certain circumstances.

_ ‘Now I really do sound like Dakin,’  _ was the  _ last  _ thing he wanted to think about on the way home at the end of November, his head alive with schemes and his trousers sticky. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave kudos, comments and bookmarks. :)
> 
> Quotes:
> 
> “It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.” - Leo Tolstoy


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